


where the time went

by wastelandfrenzy



Category: Nancy Drew (Video Games), Nancy Drew - Carolyn Keene
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, Mild Sexual Content, Pining, bring on the angst, frank's pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-12 15:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19134640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wastelandfrenzy/pseuds/wastelandfrenzy
Summary: "When he sees her dark red hair tumbling over her shoulders his breath catches. 'N—!' Her name is on the tip of his tongue before he realizes that this woman sitting at the bar isn't her.Frank swallows this exclamation and his shoulders sink. He shouldn't be surprised, it's been a year since Kapu Cave and he still thinks he sees her everywhere in the blind hope that she'll appear again like she did back on the island, like magic, just when he wants her the most."Snapshots of Frank/Nancy over the years.





	where the time went

* * *

 

_i._

  
Slanted light streams in through the large glass windows on Jake Hurley's train. It is Frank's favorite time of day, early morning when the sun is still warming up against the lingering chill of the previous night. Breakfast food, day planners, black coffee, mint toothpaste, a fresh shave—he reveled in it. It makes sense to him due to his general love of beginnings. They were always his favorite part in a story.

Frank is relishing every second on the train. When he and Joe had initially been offered the opportunity to come aboard and seek Jake's mine, the first thought that came to his mind had been Nancy. He tells himself that inviting her is what any friend would do. Hadn't she just mentioned she was dry on mysteries lately?

Watching Nancy on the case is nothing ordinary to behold. So far he and Joe had helped as much as they could, but they're no match for her and there isn't much left for them to do. She is single-minded and relentless, running on determination and pure instinct. Frank already knows that Nancy is sharp and detail-oriented from hanging out as teenagers, but working beside her now as adults is entirely different and he's swept away in her spirited competence. The look on Balducci's face when Nancy discovered their dramatic hostess hiding in the caboose within the first hour of boarding the train had been absolute gold.

 _She's delightful,_ Frank catches himself thinking as she leans over her notebook to scratch a neat checkmark into her list. Yikes, when was the last time he'd used 'delightful' to describe something? Some delicate strands of dark red hair have escaped her ponytail and hang softly in front of her. She does not notice. In fact, every time Nancy appears in the dining car to share more about the case, cheeks pink with excitement, the more unruly her hair seems to get. Maybe it's all the running back and forth. The urge to lean forward and tuck some of that hair back in place is strong and he stifles it as quickly as it comes.

"God, she works fast," Frank bursts as soon as Nancy leaves the train car after describing her latest connection between the cabinet of dolls and the inlaid wooden dance floor. She leaves muttering, "Calico, calico....silverado," under her breath.

"That's why we invited her," Joe says without looking up from his picture of Buell's general store. "Hey, how much longer d'you think it'll take to get to Copper Gorge?"

"Last I checked we'll roll up tomorrow, mid-morning. You'd have to ask the engineer to know for sure. Good luck getting him to talk to you," Frank says. "That is one bleak guy."

\---

Shortly after the excitement of the thrown emergency brake dies down, most of the guests depart to their respective quarters to sleep. When Frank slips out of his room some time after two in the morning, the only sounds in the sleeper car are the faint tap-tapping of Charleena's laptop keyboard from behind one of the doors and the low rumble of the train.

It is so quiet, in fact, that he is not expecting to see Nancy sitting on the little yellow table in the narrow hall. She's lifted the curtain on the window and is fixated on the night sky. The usually lit sconces lining the wall are black, leaving the windows as the sole light source.

"Is the noise of the train keeping you up?" Nancy's voice is barely above a whisper, and Frank steps closer to hear better.

"Yeah, I'm a light sleeper."

His compartment is tiny, only big enough to hold a set of bunks and a suitcase rack. Joe has the capability to sleep anywhere at any time, but between the metal rattling of the tracks beneath them and the tightness of their quarters, Frank isn't sleeping well.

"What about you?" he asks her.

She is still gazing upward at the stars. The thick slice of the moon settles brilliantly over the shadows of the trees on the horizon.  "Oh, I'm just thinking about the case. I wish this train would go a little faster. I'm dying to get my hands on that pickaxe and the lantern. With all the work that Hurley put into that contraption back there, I know it does something important."

"If there's any trace of them in Copper Gorge, I'm sure you'll be the one to find it."

Nancy returns his smile and tucks her bare feet up under her legs, leaning forward into the exchange. This shifts her into better moonlight and Frank calls upon all that is holy to keep himself from staring at the white cotton shirt she's sleeping in because it's _clinging_ in a way that her daytime clothes do _not_.

"You know, the story of this train is really quite sad," says Nancy. "Charleena filled me in on some of the details when I asked her. Jake and Camille were only married for a year before she died. That must have been so tragic for him to lose all that time they could have spent together."

Frank is having a hard time feeling sorry for old Jake in this moment—at least he'd gotten to marry the woman he loved. And in regards to losing time that they could have spent together, well, Frank isn't going to touch that one. He keeps quiet about all this to Nancy. The late hours of the night seem to transform her into something more wistful and abstract and he doesn't dare spoil her mood.

"How's Callie?" she asks suddenly. It's an odd question, or at least she makes it one due to the strange tone she says it in. Guarded, as if she doesn't want it to sound obvious.

"Fine, probably. I wouldn't know. We broke up."

Her eyebrows bunch together. "What? When?"

"A while ago. Like last year. It was mutual." Frank tries his best not to laugh at her shocked expression. "It never came up, okay? You and I, we tend to stick to the mystery-solving territory."

"So that means we can never venture into any different territories?"

Nancy says this with so much sass that it makes Frank want to...what? He can't figure it out at the moment, but something is telling him there's a challenge being extended.

He stares at her pointedly. "We can go wherever you'd like. Just name it."

She senses now that they are no longer speaking about the same thing anymore. Clearing her throat, she looks away, and Frank swears he can see the hint of a smile play across her features.

There is a long silence and the track rattles underneath them.

"Well, I'm sorry to disturb your solitary contemplation," he says, resigned to heading back to his cramped compartment.

"Oh, I wasn't alone. Tino was keeping me company."

Her face is playful—suggestive, in fact, and Frank's heart skips several beats at her saucy tone as he thinks rapidly, _no way, no way does she mean what I think she means_. He had assumed she was by herself, but he hadn't checked the other end of the sleeping car.

"You mean—" he manages to choke out, completely forgetting to keep his voice down.

Her smirk widens and she tilts her chin towards the mounted goat head on the wall next to them.

"You named the head Tino?" Frank clarifies.

"Yeah. I think there's a certain resemblance, don't you?"

 Now he laughs and tries not to sound too nervous from his pounding heart. Nancy seems more pleased with herself than ever and he decides that for now a hasty retreat would be in his best interest.

 

* * *

  
_ii._

Frank hadn't known entirely what to expect from his case in Hawaii, but he'd had a pretty good idea. They'd been hired to look into the Mapu family. The case is straightforward. Investigate their paperwork, stake out the business, follow the money, etc.

He doesn't expect Nancy to materialize out of thin air. Twice.

The first time is on the beach. She calls to them from the pier, waving her arm excitedly, speaking into her cell. _I'll call you later, Ned!_ Frank did not believe at first that she was really there. But no, she was real and standing right in front of them and he can't believe his stupid good luck that she's investigating in the same place. The sunshine ripples off of the waves and he wishes they didn't have so much work to do so they could stretch out on the sand and watch the swell of the ocean. Frank notices the look in her eye that says she's found a mystery and he knows better than to expect Nancy to take any free time.

The second time is in the volcanic underground caves. When he confronts the Mapus with a barrage of evidence against them, things take an ugly turn. He's outnumbered and all of the possible outcomes to this scenario are flashing through his mind and none of them end well. Not for him.

It's looking worse and worse until she emerges from a passage above them, standing at the top of the rocks with an angry look on her face when she sees Mike threatening Frank. The lava bubbling quietly behind them glitters in her eyes and brings out the color of flames in her hair.

Later, as Frank scrambles onto the last rock that finally ensures his safety on solid ground, he realizes in his heart that without Nancy's expert guidance from her high vantage point, he may have very easily perished on those disintegrating steps.

They sprint for the exit. Rocks crumble amidst the deafening boom of the collapsing tunnels in the distance. The structural damage is crippling; these caves will cease to exist within minutes.

Pua and Mike have a major headstart. Frank soon finds himself alone with Nancy in the tunnel.

"I know we're close," he says. "The air smells completely different."

She nods. "I noticed that same thing. Salty, like the beach. Let's keep moving."

A sharp _crack_ echoes above them, loud enough to make Frank flinch. "Shit!"

"Look out!" she yells. When the rock ceiling crashes down it barely misses them by a couple of feet. Nancy is in his arms, Frank having shielded her against the shower of earth and the boulders rolling in the narrow tunnel enclosure. Her skin feels sticky from the humidity in the cave, their adrenaline-laced breaths coming fast and mingling together in the tight space between them. With every rise of their chests they are inadvertently pressed closer to each other.

Is this what it would have been like? Frank wonders. Looking out for each other's backs, taking and giving every last bit of themselves, the heat of triumph, and the palpable bond that inevitably follows saving someone's life? He would give anything to know what she's thinking in that instant.

Nancy is the first to collect herself and urges them once more toward escape; they had already hesitated for an instant too long. Frank keeps hold of her hand and she lets him.

 

* * *

  
_iii._

  
The clock hanging over the hotel bar reads twelve thirty-one. The windows in the front lobby are dark and there is still a large handful of guests congregating in the brightly-lit bar. Frank is on his way to the elevator. He's not a big drinker, and had only stopped in for a quick one—a seven and seven, something to calm his nerves after having to sleep in another damned train car. Investigate it during the day, fine, excellent. Spending the night in the sleeper car in one of those little rooms? Pass.

They had dismounted The Royal Express earlier that evening following their next lead on the Romanov treasure and Frank was grateful for the circumstances that kept them on the move, forcing them to seek an actual hotel for the night.

Frank and Joe were working with, oddly enough, Samantha Quick, another spy that Nancy had crossed paths with in Venice. Frank isn't necessarily surprised to see Joe trying to flirt with Samantha, but he _was_ surprised when it actually started to work. Sure, she'd told Joe he was full of shit and rolled her eyes at all of his jokes kind of like a mean babysitter, but after a while it became clear to Frank that she _liked_ it. The two of them are off God-only-knew-where in the hotel right now and Frank would much rather have a whiskey by himself than know any more detail than that.

He scrubs absentmindedly at the two and a half days-old stubble on his face. Finally he'll have a decent mirror and sink to shave over. His room upstairs is beckoning to him and he leaves cash next to his empty glass and slides off the barstool.

When he sees her dark red hair tumbling over her shoulders his breath catches. "N—!" Her name is on the tip of his tongue before he realizes that this woman sitting at the bar isn't her.

Frank swallows this exclamation and his shoulders sink. He shouldn't be surprised, it's been a year since Kapu Cave and he still thinks he sees her everywhere in the blind hope that she'll appear again like she did back on the island, like magic, just when he needs her the most.

 

* * *

  
_iv._

It's Joe that receives the phone call. When his pocket begins to buzz loudly he sets down the heavy end of the replica they are carrying.

"Oh, come on!" Frank complains with a grunt as Joe answers his phone. Moving this _giant_ thing upstairs to the workshop above the garage had been Joe's idea, and beyond that he'd made a big deal when Frank told him to wait because he was already in the middle of something.

"Oh, hey Ned," Joe says cheerfully.

Great, now they would have to sit there while Ned relayed how sappily perfect his anniversary dinner with Nancy had been. "Remember you reiterated how important it was that we get this stupid statue upstairs?" Beads of sweat pool on Frank's forehead from bearing the brunt of the weight while Joe casually leans against the hallway with his phone to his ear. "Remember, 'cause you said that I was being the dick for making you wait because your urgency to get this moved was greater than my want to finish typing my case report."

"Whoa, slow down. You guys what?" Joe says, ignoring Frank.

Joe's expression has shifted into one of concern, and Frank carefully sets down his end of the replica on the bottom step and throws Joe a look that asks what's up.

Joe keeps listening to Ned. "That's alright, then! No hope is lost, you just have to call her and apologize," he reassures him.

Now that Frank has figured out the implication of the call, he freezes, dumbstruck. Joe begins to look uncomfortable that Frank can hear Ned's misfortunes with Nancy and tries to inch past him down the steps to take the call somewhere more private.

"If you move I'll kill you," Frank mouths at him, proceeding to listen shamelessly to the conversation.

Joe leaves shortly after to cheer Ned up as best he can. Before he leaves the house he turns back to Frank, uncertainty written on his face.

"Are you going to be..." he trails off, reconsidering his words. "I'll be back later."

Frank only nods and doesn't give him the answer he's really looking for—that he won't say anything stupid to Nancy in his absence. Frank's feelings for her were no secret to Joe, and he was always careful to handle this knowledge delicately.

Frank manages to distract himself with his case report, halfheartedly tapping at the keyboard until the texts from Joe start coming in. His screen lights up and he slides his thumb across the screen to read.

_**JH:** wow so it's pretty bad over here. I guess the fight was big_

Some time after that he sends more, and Frank doesn't know how to respond to a single one of them.

_**JH:** situation looks grim. still hasn't heard from her yet_   
_**JH:** I'm going to stay here longer, idk what else to do_

Frank loses his resolve and takes this as an excuse to call Nancy in Germany.

"What did you do to Ned?" is the first thing he blurts out at her over the phone, for lack of better preparation.

"Hi, Frank." The connection is shit and her voice crackles over the line. He's still happy to hear her voice and he tries to remember what she looked like on the beach.

Frank slathers it on thick with the supportive friend speech, careful not to say anything derogatory towards Ned and he ends the conversation quickly, worrying that he went too over the top and that she might think he won't be honest with her.

\---

Frank is beyond relieved when Nancy calls him first this time. He is genuinely happy to hear about her case, wishing more than anything that he too was staying at Castle Finster with Nancy. Pooling their coins to buy cakes out of the vending machine in the shop, pants tucked into their socks as they traversed the thorny patches of woods, huddling behind a great oak tree in the dark to catch pictures of the castle monster. Tracing the hidden letters in the stained glass and winding the clocks to find a code. He could get on a plane and be there within a matter of hours.

Instead he has to sit and be the responsible pal that Joe would want him to be for the sake of his best friend.

Once again, Nancy is full of surprises as she confides in him when they breach the topic of Ned again.

"It's funny that I'm more comfortable tracking down some dangerous saboteur than I am having one of those 'relationship talks.'"

He smiles into the phone as if she can see it. "Same here. Occupational hazard, I guess." He thinks of Callie, and her numerous complaints about the constant travel and danger. _You have this whole other part of your life that you won't let me in on no matter how hard I try_ , Callie had said to him.

He reads into the silence that follows. Something has passed between them, a thread in common, binding them together in some small way.

Just like all of his most treasured moments with Nancy, the sweet ones always come with a sting afterward as the next phone call from her reaffirms that she and Ned are back together again.

 

* * *

  
_v._

Frank's dream is brief. And agonizing.

Flashes of dark red hair fanned out across his forest green sheets. Writhing, bare limbs beneath him. Breathless whispering, all the right things he needs to hear in order to know he was doing a thorough job of it.

He captures her hands together above her head. She likes this—her volume increasing with each deep movement, head thrown back in approval.

Frank is grateful to have a room to himself when he has dreams like these. Back when they were still teenagers he and Joe had shared countless rooms out of convenience. They were older now and had the means to spring for separate hotel rooms when they were out on a case.

He can hear street traffic. A car door in the parking lot, the clunk of the ice machine just outside.

He's drifting back to sleep when his phone buzzes on the nightstand next to the bed and his cheeks grow hot as he reads Nancy's name on the screen, as if she can read his thoughts and is calling to chew him out over his lecherous fantasies.

He answers without delay.

"Hi, Frank." Her voice is thick with sleep and he asks if everything is alright.

She is quick to reassure him. "Everything's fine. I need a distraction from this awful dream and I figured since we're in opposite time zones I'd see what you were up to."

He stifles the sudden laughter that rises in his throat. "Well, you know I'm always happy to talk, but I think you're a little mixed up. We're in the _same_ time zone right now, Nancy."

"Oh! I—" she sounds flustered and stops to think. "You're right. I guess I forgot. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up."

"It's okay, I was awake already."

"It's so late. That doesn't sound like you."

She always remembers his preferences and it sends a rush through him. "Why don't you tell me about this dream."

"It's pretty stupid. You sure?"

"Lay it on me." He is eager to hear what dream could have possibly rattled the fearless Drew. He wonders, of course, why she didn't call Ned. Late phone calls about nightmares seem more up the boyfriend alley. He's not about to ask and break whatever spell is at work. He knows good and well that if it were the middle of the day and she wasn't addled by the fog of sleep she would have never called him over something as trivial as a dream.

"So I'm in this _creepy_ grocery store, and the aisles stretch out for miles and the lights only click on when I'm near and fade when I move away so I can't even see how much more I have left to walk. I can't find anything on my list, the letters are hard to read and I keep having to turn around and backtrack because I've forgotten things.

"There's something following me, something on four legs that slides over the tops of the freezers in the cold aisles and it stays just out of reach of the lights that keep turning on and off for me. I don't want him to catch me and suddenly the lights overhead don't click on when I approach. I turn back but the lights keep clicking out one by one until it's pitch black and all I can see is this weird glow from the exit sign. Right as the creature closes in on me the dream changes and it turns out I _live_ in the grocery store. I have another list, and it's for some dinner party that I'm not ready for but is happening nonetheless. There's a window in front of me and I can see Bess and she's screaming at me, but I'm confused because she's already in the house with me. That's when I realize that my party guests are the creatures and they're just wearing masks. I try to reach Bess but the walls of the house start collapsing and the creatures surround me right as I wake up." Her words spill out fast like she's trying to get them all out before they fade from memory.

"Spooky grocery shopping and a dinner party. So what you're saying is...your nightmare is domesticity." Frank bites his lip and it takes all of his strength to choke down his laughter.

"Oh, come on! Haven't you ever had a nightmare that was terrifying while you were having it and when you tried to explain it to somebody it just comes out silly?"

"All the time. I've just never dreamt about a scary dinner party before."

She groans and it sounds muffled like she's covering her face with her hand.

"We're getting older now, and domestic stuff like that seems imminent in my future. Is it bad that the thought of growing up freaks me out?"

"Being domestic isn't synonymous with growing up. You have to learn responsibilities like taxes and insurance, sure. Basic knowledge of how to feed yourself and clean your own bathroom, definitely. But if you don't want it to go any further than that, it doesn't have to. I know how important your work is to you right now. You should keep that in sight."

She falls silent for a few moments.

"You and I are so different from each other sometimes," Nancy starts. _Are we, though?_ he wants to say. "And yet you always say things that...that mean something to me, that resonate with me. Sometimes you say things that I'm thinking before I even speak. How is that?"

"I guess it happens when you share the same passion. You understand what drives them because it's the same thing that's driving you."

He's perhaps crossed a line with the intimacy of his tone of voice. It's nothing he would have said if anyone else could hear them. But she'd crossed the line first with the late night phone call. A serious dynamic shift had occurred between them after Nancy had confided in Frank while she was in Germany. He worries that she's feeling a little too comfortable around him now. If that was truly the case it would only spell out torture for Frank, getting tastes of what it could be like to be with her and feel for fleeting instants like this one that she could actually love him as strongly as he did her.

"Sometimes I wish that—"  now she cuts off, reconsidering. "Frank?"

"Hm."

"Tell me what you remember about Hawaii. And Brimstone Canyon."

 

* * *

  
_vi._

When Frank learns that Ned has purposefully hidden the information of Nancy's false arson charges, he is livid.

" _Arrested?"_

George had casually relayed over the phone after the fact that Ned asked them not to call the Hardys because he didn't want them to worry.

Joe looks worried _now_ though, like he's watching a stranger inhabit his brother's body.

"You know why he did this, yeah?" Frank asks rhetorically, pacing up and down the room while Joe stays on the couch. Out of the way.

"Because he couldn't think straight until his lady love was freed?"

"Because he knew that I'd drive straight out there and show him up in a fraction of the time it took him. He would rather let her rot in there than risk getting overshadowed by me, again!"

"She's not in jail anymore," Joe reminds him. "They found all the evidence they needed and Brenda Hoozy-whatsit is safely behind bars and everything is right again. Speaking of, did you see that video of Brenda's latest weather report? That orange jumpsuit is really something. Pretty funny, right?"

Joe's blatant deflection is doing nothing to ease Frank's uncharacteristic black mood.

"He's been pulling this kind of thing ever since the airport."

Joe tosses his head back to complain at the ceiling. "Not the airport story again, man—"

"I'm telling you! I saw it, I saw it with my own eyes. I didn't want her to forget her coat so I laid it over her shoulders and—"

"Yeah, yeah, it magically gave you away and now Ned knows you're hot for his girlfriend. It's still just as crazy as the first day you told it."

"There was more to it than that."

Joe had been put in an awkward position ever since he'd witnessed Frank and Nancy coming out of Kapu cave hand-in-hand. Being such close friends with Ned meant he had a foot in either court, and it grew more difficult to stay neutral.

"He has everything," Frank continued. " _Everything_. And he still chooses to be petty over things like this."

"Having everything means he has more to lose," Joe says. "You should cut him some slack. It's not easy being the one who always has to stay at home. He's not like us, he doesn't understand what it's like to be in the thick of things, he only knows what it's like to worry."

"You're right. He's not like us."  

 

* * *

  
_vii._

"We've got to work faster."

"Stating the obvious, thanks." Frank hunches over his keyboard.

"I'm just trying to create a sense of urgency here. I'm trying to be helpful!" Joe protests.

"Nancy holed up with a killer is urgent enough. If you want to help then get George on the phone."

"Ha ha, very funny. I'm sure the twenty-third call's the charm."

Frank cracks his knuckles and rolls his neck. "I've hit a wall here. Will you take over?"

Joe takes his place at the laptop, his face an inch away from the screen as he studies the code in the security video Nancy sent from Colorado. The encryption is weird, and neither of them are as quick as George when it came to computer sciences.

"I hate to say it, but we may have to leave the sub," Frank says.

"We're in the middle of a case."

"I know, but if we don't get within some more stable cell reception, we could really drop the ball on this for Nancy."

"I guess you're right. Pirate treasure can wait longer than she can at the moment."

The submarine that Frank and Joe were on was nothing to turn his nose up at. While he doesn't care for the cramped feeling of basically being in an underwater tube, he is utterly fascinated by the mechanics of the ship, grateful for the opportunity to experience it for himself.

Although Frank feels they're about to make a breakthrough on their mystery, he would drop the whole thing in a millisecond if he thought he could help Nancy.

\---

"Give me the phone, let me do it," Frank insists.

Joe holds the phone out reach, listening to it ring on the other end. "Bad idea, man. You'll say too much."

"This is important!"

"Of course it's important, it's—oh, it's her voicemail. Nancy! When you get this message you should run as far as possible from where you are right now! Your life is in danger, this is not a drill. Hang on, Frank wants to say something."

The Doppler radar on the screen in front of Frank shows a massive snowstorm dropping directly on top of her location, and he supposes it's the reason he exclaims into the phone in a fresh wave of panic, "Nancy, please be careful! I just want to tell you that I've always—"

Right as he hears an extended _beep_ cut him off, a struggle ensues when Joe leaps at him, wrenching the phone from his fingers and mashing End Call over and over again. "I told you you'd say too much."

"Oh, no." The cold realization of what he's done settles slowly, like dust falling.

Joe tries to help. "She might not hear the message. And even if she does, well, she probably won't read into it. You didn't actually say it, y'know? No big deal, right?" He is unconvincing.

 

* * *

  
_viii._

Frank supposes it is normal to fall into these slumps. Everybody will eventually reach a period in their life where they experience discontentment. Joe says he just needs a new case to work on. Something to help distract him.

Unfortunately every time he gets a case he can't stop imagining how Nancy would solve it if she were there. How many minutes it would take her to solve this anagram. What she would order off of this menu. Which umbrella she would choose for the rain. He thinks that he'll never be able to solve mysteries again, Nancy tangled into every clue like the roots of a plant. What else would he do for a career? His father would be ecstatic if Frank went into business like him.

She never acknowledges the phone messages and his near-confession. Frank cringes when he thinks of the rambling follow-up voicemail Joe left in an attempt to patch things up. _I'm calling about that whole security video ping thing...Please disregard my earlier message. Alright. Well. Okay, goodbye. Remember, that other message is no longer relevant. You should probably just delete it._ Frank desperately mouthing, _Hang up, hang up!_ The damage was done. He steadfastly avoided any correspondence with her for weeks.  

Now they're in River Heights and every street corner reminds him of her. Joe wanted to visit Ned while he's home for spring break. With George gone and Nancy off in Georgia investigating a missing girl, Bess expresses her eagerness to see some familiar faces and they meet at the pancake diner to catch up.

"Why don't you just call her and get the deets?" Bess laughs after Frank asks his third question about Nancy's case. Joe flicks his eyes to Frank's and changes the subject, always looking out for his brother.

Later he overhears Bess speaking to Nancy on the phone. "And Frank is, I don't know what Frank's problem is. He's all sullen. And he keeps talking about needing to grow up, and maybe get an MBA or something. You gotta come back and restore balance to the world."

Sullen. There was a euphemism if he'd ever heard one.

 

* * *

  
_ix._

Frank's phone rings and the caller ID tells him the call is international. He knows Nancy's in Scotland. Maybe she's trying to reach him.

"Hello?"

"This is Cathedral Operative number six-five-five, requesting an immediate transfer of the Drew case notes to our Glasgow facility."

"Nancy? Is she in trouble?" His heart jumps.

"Classified," the woman says in a clipped voice. "Our agency requires her case histories."

"Is. Nancy. Okay?" he insists.

She pauses. "For now. We can't promise that going forward. She is currently in the field and we're doing all we can to ensure her safety."

He hesitates a beat too long. "What is this about?"

"The case files, Mr. Hardy."

"There aren't any files." He thinks of Nancy's scrapbooks—the ones with newspaper articles and journal entries and clippings from the notes she took on all of her cases. They probably provided more of an insight into her sleuthing technique than the newspapers did, but this Cathedral operative seemed to think that Nancy was affiliated with some other kind of agency that would keep legitimate records of her.

"And you must have me pegged as a special breed of stupid if you think I'm going to hand over a shred of information about Nancy. I know about Cathedral and if you really were who you said you were, you could have gotten the information from her yourself."

The woman drops her cool professional tone. "You're good, Frank. Every bit as adept as your bio indicates. But I should have remembered."

"What bio?"

"The profiles on all of Nancy Drew's little friends. So helpful of Cathedral to gather them all in the same place for me to find."

Her lilting sarcastic voice is suddenly familiar to him. _But I should have remembered._ She knows him. He wracks his brain, afraid that she might hang up in the interim. Where has he heard that voice before? He sees her sitting across the booth from them in Vienna. Dark slash of lipstick. The glass of her gin and tonic glinting in the overhead light. _Oh, Joe, you're about as graceful as a newborn puppy._

"Samantha Quick," he exclaims suddenly.

"Bingo, Mr. Hardy takes home the prize."

"What is this about?" he repeats.

"Drew's here in Glasgow kicking up dust all over my assigned mission. It was bad enough when she stole my identity in Venice, now she's sweeping her sticky fingers all over my hotel room and intercepting _my_ dead drops. Figured it was only fair to ruffle a few of her feathers in return. Dig up something good on her."

"Well, I told you. There are no files. Nancy doesn't work for any agency."

"That's a shame."

"So why call me?"

"To snoop."

"No, why call _me_? Wouldn't her boyfriend have been a more useful option?"

She laughs. "You never call the boyfriend to squeeze information out of a mark. I'm more interested in you, Mr. Special Connection."

"You've lost me."

"It's right here in your file." There is a clacking of a keyboard. "'Strong connection to Kestrel.' That's Nancy's code name, by the way. Stupid, right? Her code name in my phone is St—"

"What on earth does 'strong connection' mean?" he interrupts.

"That's what I was hoping you could tell me."

"Look." He sighs and squints his eyes. "I enjoyed working with you on the Romanov case. You really came through with the bomb and the painting in Warsaw. But you're barking up the wrong tree here."

"Yes, I see that now," she says philosophically. "You're just as useless as the boyfriend would have been. Why is that?"

"I—I don't sell my friends out, that's all."

"It's more than that." He hears her deep sigh. "Ugh, what _is_ it about this girl that has every dude and their cousin sniffing around? You have no idea how many times I've had to sit through Justin blathering on about Nancy this and Nancy that, the divine, titian-haired goddess who's graced the earth with her presence."

"Who the fuck is Justin?" he asks incredulously.

"Just some pathetic art thief who can only get it up for mosaic tiles and our mutual friend. Look, this has been enlightening and all, but I've gotta run."

"Bye, Samantha," he says just as Joe comes back with their food. At the mention of Samantha's name the tray slips from Joe's hands as he's about to set it down. Their sides of coleslaw spatter across the table.

"It's Zoe, actually," she says. "But I guess you'll hear all about it when she gets home. That is if she can listen to me long enough to stay alive." She hangs up with a click.

"That's Samantha?" Joe asks breathlessly. "Tell her I say hi—No, tell her about that cool loot we just dug up in India. Tell her—No, let me see the phone."

"She's gone, Casanova."

 

* * *

 

_x._

Though Frank has a bad temper (Bess is always saying it's because he's a Scorpio, but he doesn't know much about that sort of thing), he also possesses a remarkable sense of self-control. It's what makes him good—no, it's what makes him fucking great at his job. He would be dead ten times over if he wasn't able to maintain a level head out in the field.

But when Nancy calls asking for help checking up on some theater troupe in Greece, his composure is thoroughly shaken and every ounce of his patience is tested after Ned overhears what's going on.

"This is not looking good," Joe mutters, peering at his search results on the screen of his laptop. They were using ATAC resources to check up on suspicious characters, namely a man called Thanos Ganas.

Ned's panic rises when they discover the depth of the situation.

"He's killed people," Ned says, stunned. He reads over Joe's shoulder and Frank can see the tension in his stance. "This guy isn't some petty diamond thief looking to make a quick score. He's involved in organized crime."

"Yes, that's one of the hazards of the job," Frank says. "But she can handle it."

"She needs to get out of there!" Ned insists but Frank is already shaking his head.

"That won't make a difference. If Thanos wants her dead it won't matter where she goes. No, her best chance is to stay where she is and keep gathering proof against him."

"You must be joking!" Ned looks to Joe as if expecting him to jump in and back him up. "She listens to you guys, call her and tell her to come home."

"I know it's hard, but this is the best we can do."

"How are you keeping so calm? Don't you _care_?"

"Of course I care," Frank spits, trying not to let his anger spill over. He might be jealous as sin, but he doesn't think badly of Ned in general. He knows that Ned is tense and that he's looking for somewhere to place blame but with the added stress of Nancy's situation Frank is close to snapping. "But she's involved now and it's too late to turn back."

"I'm texting her right away," Ned says, as if this option wasn't available to him previously.

"She won't leave," Frank says under his breath, but everyone hears him anyway. Joe looks nervous but stays quiet.

Frank understands what Nancy's in the middle of far better than Ned ever will and it's this small anchor of patience that he holds onto.

 

* * *

  
_xi._

Deirdre Shannon leans over the table outside of the ice cream parlor. "I know exactly what you think of me, Ned. If you would let me explain myself then you could have a more accurate picture."

A stiff chuckle. "Look, it's okay. If you're talking about that weird date we had, it was so long ago and I think we should forget about it."

"That's the thing, you're not forgetting about it. You're basing your opinions of me from that date, and your data is skewed!"

Frank and Joe are in River Heights again, and neither of them are _trying_ to overhear this conversation between Ned and Deirdre, but the door is open and the street is quiet and their voices carry easily inside.

Deirdre draws in a large breath. "When I said all of those mean things to you, I only did that because I was nervous. I knew that I was nothing like your perfect Drew and that you wouldn't like me no matter what I said so I just...decided to not like you first, I guess."

Ned shuffles his feet under the metal table they share. "I wouldn't have expected you to act like Nancy," he says quietly.

"Well, I didn't act like me, either, is what I'm trying to tell you. I'm sorry for saying all that stuff." She rushes over the words _I'm sorry_ as if she isn't fully comfortable with the phrase yet and wants to get it over with.

"Why is it so important to you what I think?"

"Because..." she struggles. "Because I care what people think, okay? I don't like admitting it, but it's the truth. And I care what _you_ think because I've always liked you. You don't fake your way through stuff and you actually mean what you say. I see how lonely you are without Nancy."

Ned is visibly torn between his dislike of Deirdre and his inability to put somebody down when they were laying themselves out in such a vulnerable way. "I'm not without Nancy. She travels a lot, but we're still just the same."

"Maybe you are, but she's not. She hasn't been the same since Scotland."

"Stop."

"I'm just saying that whatever happened over there, it changed her, and anybody with eyes can see that she doesn't appreciate you. I mean, you did all that stuff for her and got in trouble with her dad and she still treats you like some affectionate pet or something."

"For not liking Nancy, you sure do a whole lot of checking up on her."

"Did you ever stop to think that it's not her I'm checking on?"

At her words Ned seems to soften further. "Well, I forgive you," and the look he gives her is so genuine that she crosses her arms in self-defense against his steadfast candor. In fact, she looks so embarrassed that Ned reaches out to take her hand into his own with a reassuring grip that appears to break down even Deirdre Shannon's walls.

Joe and Frank exchange a look that is equal parts awkward and surprised and neither of them is sure what to say.

 

* * *

 

_xii._

Frank's bag is nearly packed. There is a familiar humming in his chest in anticipation of a new case. Rain taps against the windows and he hopes the storm won't delay their flight. Joe, in his usual flurry of chaos, runs back and forth through the rooms searching for things he's forgotten. His phone charger, a tube of toothpaste, extra socks. Frank uses the same list every trip they take and forgets nothing.

The knock at the door is clear and solid and cuts through his thoughts. He expects Joe to barrel through like a golden retriever, _"I got it!"_ and when he doesn't, Frank answers the door, still looking down at his day planner.

The shock of seeing Nancy on his doorstep unsettles all of his previous equanimity.

"What are you doing here?"

"Can I come in?"

"Of course. Is everything okay?" He shuts the door behind her. There is a spattering of water droplets settled on the shoulder of her fleece coat and he absentmindedly brushes them away.

"Yes. Sorry for showing up out of nowhere. You didn't answer your phone."

"My—" He remembers suddenly that it's still in his bedroom and he wants to apologize but she waves him off before he can even start. "We're actually on our way out soon. To a new case."

"Yes, Joe told me."

"Joe?" Frank turns around and realizes the living room is now mysteriously empty, an uncharacteristic silence creeping from the back rooms.

"I was hoping to come with you both, like old times on the train."

There's nothing he'd like more but he can't help wondering at her abrupt visit.

"Are you sure everything's okay?"

She lowers herself onto a thickly-stuffed armchair. His favorite chair. "I need to get away from River Heights for a while."

He waits a beat but she doesn't elaborate. "You're welcome to come with us. I'm sure Joe already said as much."

She nods and her smile is feather-light when she transitions into business mode and says, "So tell me about this case."

\---

Joe knows something.

Frank can tell. Whatever it is, Joe's not talking. It's annoying, but Frank knows that he would do anything for him and is likely trying to respect Nancy's privacy. He watches her a little more closely than he ought to, working to figure out what it is. By the end of the day he can say with confidence that she's acting no different than usual. Her ability to stifle her immediate emotions is astounding to him.

They've arrived in some sleepy California town up north, nothing glamorous. The trees are tall and dark, enshrouding the mountain resort they've been hired to investigate. Nancy keeps a neat list of notes on their suspects and manages to coax a good deal of gossip from the employees.

That night Frank slips out of his room just after one in the morning. He'd gone to bed early, as usual, and he's hoping to dig up something of interest in the front office now that everyone's asleep. Something about Nancy's interrogation doesn't sit quite right with him.

He moves down the dim hallway, following the blue light glowing from the vending machine. When he hears a soft noise behind him he turns and sees Nancy sitting at the other end of the hallway, watching him. She's perched in a chair next to the window, still dressed, a pad of notes balanced on her knee.

"Couldn't sleep?" He claims the empty chair next to her, suddenly struck by the familiarity of her sitting in the moonlight shining through the window, like they were back on Jake Hurley's train.

"I could," she answers. "I've just been snooping. I don't trust the manager and I thought checking out her office would be a good start."

"Yeah, the way she kept plucking at the hem of her jacket every time you brought up the insurance claim? She's definitely hiding something."

"You noticed that too?" Nancy produces a wrinkled scrap of loose paper from the journal in her lap. It looks like it had been crumpled and smoothed out again. "I found this in the trash under her desk—what are you smirking at?"

"Nothing. How'd you get into the office?"

"Bobby pin."

A classic move. He has a small set of picks in his coat pocket he'd been about to use.  

"What is it?" she asks again, stifling nervous laughter. "Do I have something on my face?"

"You're a step ahead of me, that's all. I was...also going to break into the office just now."

It's hard to tell in the soft light, but Frank can swear her face looks a little pink. Outside fog drifts in from the ocean, blanketing the trees and wild brush, casting a haze over the night.

"Can I show you something?" she asks. "It's not case-related."

"Sure."

The pages of her journal crinkle as she flips through them, and Frank spots ticket stubs, playbills, stamps, and photographs, little memories of her daily life tucked and catalogued into something tangible and he instantly wishes he could look inside, hungry for anything that could give him insight into her thoughts.

"I've never shown this to anyone, not even my dad. I've had it since Scotland."

She slides a letter out from a paperclip in the back of the journal and hands it to him.

"This is...from your mom?" he says after a minute.

"Yeah." She begins to wring her hands together almost imperceptibly. "It's not the original. Somebody wrote on it trying to find clues so I had to scan it and erase their notes."

"Seriously?" He's appalled at the thought of someone writing all over a dead woman's last words to her kid. He looks down at the letter again.

"You don't have to say anything," she says to him once he gives the pages back. "I just wanted somebody else to see it. I don't know why."

He never wants Nancy to feel like she has to explain herself, not about something like this. Before he can say anything reassuring, she continues.

"I've been angry. Ever since I came back from Scotland. I thought that throwing myself into detective work would help to distract me. It took me such a long time to realize how upset I really was about everything that happened to my mom. I felt like I couldn't talk to anyone about it because all they would do is try to make me feel better. And I didn't want to feel better."

"And now?"

"Now...I'm doing better. Not all at once, but gradually. Eventually I couldn't keep holding it in and I told my dad everything. Well, not the letter, but everything else. I couldn't believe how similar we were feeling the whole time."

"I'll bet it was a huge relief to him, too."

"Definitely."

When she reaches for his hand Frank feels desperation clutch his heart. Her hand is small against his, her fingers warm as they sweep across his palm and up his wrist to the light skin on his forearm. He isn't sure what she's playing at. It's the kind of touch that extends an invitation, and there's a strong part of him that wants to lean into it and grab hold of her fingers and press his lips against them. But a stern, more logical part of him speaks louder and he pulls away out of her grasp. He knows he won't be able to stop if she goes any further.

"Oh, I should have—I meant to explain first," she says with an apology on her face. "I'm not with Ned anymore. It happened a while ago."

The struggle to keep a neutral expression about kills him. "Are you okay?"

"I am." She props her chin up in her hand, elbow on the windowsill and looks out at the fog. "We got into an argument. I said it felt like we were going through the motions, that there was no feeling behind it anymore, and he said I completely shut down after Scotland. And then he said there was someone else. Or rather, there was about to be."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. We weren't what the other one needed anymore. I admit I took him for granted a lot of the time. He deserves better than that. It was hard letting go at first because we'd been with each other for so long it seemed like habit, but it's better this way." She shifts in her chair. "I almost called you so many times."

"Why didn't you?"

"That's a good question. Nervous about what to say, I guess."

"You, nervous? I don't know if I believe that."

"When it comes to this kind of thing, believe it."

"'This kind of thing,'" he trails off.

Now he's sure her ears are flushed. "Yes, don't make me say it, Frank."

"You've lost me."

She cracks a smile. "Come on. The way you look at me sometimes, it's so piercing and I always feel like you know exactly what I'm thinking."

"I assure you, I'm no mind-reader."

Her smile only grows. "So serious."

He is utterly splayed out on the line and Frank doesn't think she understands how much of a grip she's got on him, otherwise she wouldn't have that teasing smile playing across her features. She tips forward and brushes her lips against his and even though she'd done it slowly it still holds the deliberate nature of Nancy's personality, never one to hold back or to be indecisive. He feels dizzy from the soft warmth of her mouth and the smell of her vanilla shampoo.

"Don't," he says suddenly, feeling a rip in his heart. "Don't do that unless you mean it. You have no idea what it's been like all this time."

"But I do. I think about you so often I feel like I'm losing my mind. All those times I tried to call, that's what I wanted to tell you and I thought you'd never believe me and that I should tell you in person. I may not be well-versed in love and expressing myself, but I _feel_ something for you. I didn't recognize it at first, but I do. I keep thinking of Hawaii and Copper Gorge and how wonderful it felt to have you there with me in the thick of it and how much I wanted to have that again." She sighs in the midst of her outburst. "Clearly I've done this all wrong, completely out of order. I should have told you about Ned first and _then_ asked to come wi—"

"Nancy." It comes out a whisper. He skims his fingertips along her neck and up into her hair and she finally relaxes. Their lips meet and he presses her closer, pouring into her his fierce longing that he'd been forced to bury all this time. Every piece he gives she returns twice over.

When she pulls away her eyes are bright. "Promise me one thing."

"Anything," he breathes.

"Promise you won't treat me like I'm made of glass."

"You're a thousand times stronger than I am," he says, laughing. "I would never do you the dishonor."

 


End file.
